And you thought I was done talking about the plight of the Singleton

Except I'll never be done. Never.

I went out to dinner awhile back with some excellent girl friends. It was great to catch up and hear how everyone's doing. Until one friend started telling her story and then our brains exploded out our ears.

Here's a girl who is around my age, has a college degree, and has served a mission. She's attractive, funny, down-to-earth, is a loyal friend and proud auntie, she goes on cool adventures, and she can cook like you would not believe. So pretty much the whole package. Yes, she would rather not be single, but she's not the mopey sort and in the meantime is doing really good things with her life.

Great, right? Except NOT. Her parents are so worried about her single status that they Cannot. Leave. It. Alone. And the fact that she does not appear more worried about it or more "anxiously engaged" in catching herself a man (any man) just unsettles them even more. They signed her up for an online dating site without her consent, they try to set her up with every divorced guy in the neighborhood who just moved back in with his parents, they recruit her married sisters to gang up on her about her life, and they ask her if maybe she has considered flirting more.

Now, My Friend's Mom and Dad, I get that you want your sweet, lovely daughter to be happy. I get that. What I would also like to get is the number for your crack dealer.

Because seriously, if your goal is to see your child happy, how is making her miserable by continually harping on the one thing she cannot control the best way to get her on the path?

You have this gorgeous, kind, smart, educated daughter. Do you realize how much worse it could be? She could be:

1. On drugs.

2. On the run from the law.

3. Homeless

4. Secretly stealing your money.

5. Sleeping around.

6. Dating a string of losers who treat her badly.

7. Pregnant with a drug-dealer's kid.

8. Living at your house with her drug-dealer baby daddy babies.

9. Stuck in a bad marriage where you worry about her and her children constantly.

10. Still single, but constantly moaning about how miserable and wretched she is and making efforts that completely reek of desperation. (Note: I don't know of many desperation-fueled marriages that worked out well.)

And here's the other tip, parents. I get that it's hard for you to worry about your daughter, but it's much, much harder to BE your daughter. It is hard to be single in the LDS culture. It just is. It is hard to commit to a life of celibacy that could last who knows how long. It is hard not to know when/if you'll have a family of your own. It is hard to watch what seems like everyone else moving on with their lives while you're searching for meaningful Plan Bs to keep you busy. It is hard to deal with people pitying you and assuming that you must be doing something wrong and defining you by what you don't have.

So when a single person is able to maintain a good attitude in the face of all that, you DO NOT MESS WITH THAT. It is not your job to make your daughter doubt herself, because there are enough people and situations lined up for that very task. YOUR job is to be supportive, encouraging, and to maybe secretly put her name on the prayer roll in the temple, without ever, ever telling her you're doing it. (ps. Thanks, Coolmom and Cooldad! You guys are awesome at spinster parenting.)

I turned to another single friend during dinner and asked, "So, do your parents give you this kind of crap, too?"

She snorted: "No way. My dad just asked me if I've considered going for a Ph.D."

Which is how it's done, people.

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And that other thing is NOT a cup-holder

So this one time at work a patron came up to me and said, "I'm trying to use one of the computers but it won't read my card." Then I went through the part where I ask the right questions and make sure they were typing in the right information, etc.

Patron: "No, I didn't TYPE in anything, I just put my card in and it won't read it."

Me: "Wait, you put your card in . . . where?"

Then I walk over and find a library card crammed into the floppy drive. And maybe get to spend 20 minutes trying to remove it.

This happens more frequently than you might imagine. Apparently the library's previous public computer system involved some sort of hardware on the computers where you inserted your library card. Which is the STUPIDEST IDEA IN THE WORLD, because it taught people to STICK NON-COMPUTER THINGS INTO COMPUTERS. And whoever thought of that needs to be killed, right alongside the dude who designed the mini-aisles in the chapels.

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The weather is putting me in a coma

So seriously. Each time it starts snowing this week it's like Nature's personal way of saying, "I HATE YOU." Or maybe that's what I'm saying to Nature. Either way, there's hate involved. Also I am becoming sluggish and cannot be bothered to do anything besides glare out the window. I do notice the piles of laundry and the disgusting kitchen and the unmade bed, but all I can do is gesture at them listlessly and think, "What does it even matter? Snow is going to cover us and we will all die in our sleep."

So, get excited for that.

On a happier note, we just booked tickets to visit my parents in Alaska this summer. I'm very excited. We're going in June, when the weather is nicest (read: there is a 25% chance of getting some sunny days). It will be green and lovely and I'm sure my parents will spoil us rotten, because that is their way. There will be fabulous food and relaxing walks and a dog to play with and every good thing.

GH has never been to Alaska and I think it's about time. He's not so sure. I think he worries that as soon as I hit Alaskan soil I will suddenly reveal my Alaskan Wilderness Girl alter ego and will suddenly clad myself head-to-toe in fleece and start shooting animals and fishing for salmon with my bare hands and possibly growing a beard. While demanding that he do the same.

I swear, it's like he doesn't even know me. Although I suppose I can be grateful that I found possibly the one man on earth whom I could marry without suspecting that he has any secret "this woman is my ticket to Alaska" motives.

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Let's talk about Mormon Food

Bet that perked y'all right up. I have an anonymous friend who was asked to design a ward cookbook. She can't write about this on her blog without recognition and scandal, so I offered to do it for her.

I don't know when ward cookbooks started, but they are awesome. Once over at Desmama's we came across this old (1920s, Desmama? I can't remember) church magazine for young women. In addition to having really incredibly odd short stories about marital angst and possibly psychoses (for teenagers? Really) it also included recipes. The "international ones" were my favorite. Like, if you added mayonaise or cabbage to something then it automatically became "German."

Nowadays most ward cookbooks include a fair amount of American LDS staples, such as:

funeral potatoes

ambrosia/frog-eye salad

casseroles involving much cream-of-whatever soup and cheddar cheese

that one chicken salad with the grapes that you serve on croissants

fruit pizza

Dutch oven recipes, including the peach cobbler made with soda

Jello concoctions, which are included in the "salads" section

many rolls and breads

scones, which are actually deep-fried bits of Rhodes roll dough

tons and tons of desserts, including Better than S** Cake

a small vegetable section, which shall be mostly devoted to potatoes

that one punch made with Sprite and lime sherbet

So my friend is volunteered to put this thing together and figures, "Okay, it shouldn't be too bad." Oh, little did she know. In her words, "The head of the project handed out a style sheet to each person who volunteered to type up the recipes. It was very detailed, with the abbreviations for the ingredients and the order that things should go. Except then the typists just chose their own format. So instead of putting the person who donated the recipe after the title, they would just randomly insert that name at the end or even beside the instructions. Awesome!"

So she's spending hours reformatting all of this, people are going to pay to have this book printed, and guess what sort of recipes will be in the final product. This, friends, is where it gets amazing.

Chicken Alfredo

Cheese
Chicken, cooked; heat in microwave
Bottled Alfredo sauce

Combine above ingredients and serve over linguine noodles.

I know, right? Who even knew it could be so easy! Except I have no idea what kind of cheese she's talking about. Cheddar? Feta?


Chicken Pot Pies

Take 2 Banquet Chicken Pies. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Bake for 35 minutes. Add cheese, salt, pepper and enjoy.

Huh. It doesn't seem like you would need a book to tell you that. I'm pretty sure the back of the box might have served just as well.


Little Smokies

Place equal amounts of grape jelly and BBQ sauce in a crock pot. Add little smokies. Eat and love it.

I . . . kind of want to die now.

Fried Oatmeal

Cook oatmeal and place in a pan. Chill. Slice and fry in oil. Serve w/ maple syrup.

Blink. Blink blink. Has anyone ever had this??? I'm dying to know about it.

Golden Rod Eggs

Butter toast and pour white sauce over. Squish or chop hard-boiled eggs over the top.

So . . . no word on how one makes a white sauce? At least the first girl was nice enough to tell you about the bottled stuff.

Now, it's not even that these recipes are bad (they are, though). A big problem is just the lack of necessary instruction, or the assumptions that everyone has all the same cooking skills or knowledge that you do. Also there's the part where one of these (frozen chicken pot pie) is not actually recipe, and another one (the chicken alfredo) doesn't really seem like the kind of thing you'd want to be featuring in a cookbook as an example of your skills.

I do think a funny entry, though, would be something like this:

Ingredients:
Phone
Phone book
Credit card or cash
Coupon (optional)

Instructions: Open phone book. Using phone, dial the number for pizza delivery service of your choice. Place order, hang up. When delivery person arrives, pay with credit card, cash, and possibly coupons. Enjoy. You didn't have to cook.

So I would love to hear from you, dear readers. What are the craziest things you've seen in your ward cookbooks or at a church (LDS or non) function? Have I missed any of the traditional must-haves?

(image from HubPages)

Update: I just found this old post where I talk about my mom's Alaska cookbook with the moose recipes. You have to take a look.

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Someone deserves a trout slappin'

So . . . remember that one time when it was sunny and delicious and springy around here? Yeah, that all went to crap. It is now snowing like nobody's business and I'm sure all the daffodils are dying. Which, Snow, I hope you're happy, since you are now pretty much the same thing as a baby killer. I'm glad I made the most of the nice weather on Saturday--we went to the park for a picnic lunch and lounged around watching people flying kites and walking dogs. It was heaven.

Then on Sunday I was struck by what is possibly the largest architectural stupidity I have come across in recent days. I'm trying to think of what would be dumber, but all I'm getting is maybe multi-level hospitals (or nursing homes) without elevators.

In our chapel, as in many LDS chapels, there are three sections of pews separated by two aisles. There is one center section of longer benches, then there are two sections of shorter benches against each wall. For some reason, the designers of this building must have put someone in charge who has possibly never attended one of our worship services--or perhaps never did so while in the company of small children. Because the short benches (read: where the smaller (read: younger) families sit) are not flush up against the wall, but instead have this 18-inch space between the pew and the wall. A sort of mini-aisle, if you will.

Now, clearly this is too narrow to be used by adults. Wanna know who it's perfect for, though? That would be the small children. The small children can slip out of arm's reach, make a break for that opening and then stroll (or race) up and down the entire length of the chapel to their heart's delight, while taunting their parents with their eyes and giggles. Seriously, why not just build little doggie doors at the end of every aisle that lead out into the hallway?

I can only assume that maybe the person responsible for the space thought it would discourage sleeping in church by people who would otherwise lean their heads against the wall and doze off. (Probably the reason why my Alaskan chapel growing up had some sort of prickly burlap knotted fabric covering the walls--if I tried to lean against it I'd get my ear snagged and possibly torn off.) Only you know what's worse than someone quietly napping? A suddenly-free young child cackling in delight while her single mother tries unsuccessfully to lure her back to their bench without causing a scene. Sure, it's fine if you have TWO adults--one to block the entrance to the main aisle, and another to guard the entrance to the mini-aisle, but if you only have one parent there, and if the parent has learned from sad experience that chaining the kid to the pew or stapling them to the parent's lap is not ideal, then you have the makings of a lively 70 minutes. There's one little sassy 4-year old moppet (imagine a Hobbit child) who makes a break for it every chance she gets, while her sweet mom does her best to keep her sitting and entertained. GH loves watching this little girl. I don't think he would love it as much if he had to be keeping track of her.

But seriously, way to make life just that much harder (and church that much more stressful) for the single mommies, architect. Everyone gives these moms a pass (or they should) because hi, what are you even going to do? An idiot designed the building. I'm surprised they didn't include a jungle gym in the back while they were at it.

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Updates: Technological advancements, fiends and Nightmarred & Dreamscarred

I realised I have not spoken about my recent acquisition of an iPod Classic, replacing my 3 year old Sony Network Music Player. I am most pleased with the new purchase despite it's slightly expensive, not only does the iPod hails a behemoth storage size of 120GB, the battery life is immensely good. I have only charged it once and it is still running in the "green" area after a week's worth of regular usage. This made my Sony Network player look like a contemporary torture device in cruel disguise, complete with rapidly deteriorating battery lifespan, user-unfriendly music transfer programme, an ugly B&W interface, and most of all, a miniscule space of 6GB. Now, I can comfortably throw in my entire music library which now amasses to nearly 11GB, movies and card flourishing videos and magic performances videos and still be baffled at the amount of space remaining in this lean mean machine. The only issue is that iPod's sound quality isn't as powerful as Sony's. But hell, one can't have all the "plus" factors together. =)

And, I went out with new f(r)iends, who happened to be listeners of my favourite music genre - Robin, Hong Rui and Prab Nathan, yesterday, on a movie outing and a chill-out session. Went to watch Detroit Metal City which proved to be rather no-brainer and laugh yourself silly show. Nonetheless, it was remotely heart-warming to see metal openly displayed and blared on the cinema speakers. Metal-related jokes were flunged left, right and centre onto the suspecting herds of non-metal listening mortals, of course, they do not get it and I knew they only pretended to laugh mildy and only awaited to see the ''cute-pop" portions. Ah wells. I did enjoyed the way the DMC fans expressed their maniacal devotion to DMC, hilarious. And, of course, I enjoyed myself equally with the new friends, for it has been, easily, years since I went out with proper metal-listening people and able to talk about metal music openly and freely. It was a good feeling. Very good, in fact. Regardless of the fact we listen to different sub-genres in metal, with me specialising in black and viking/folk metal. Haha! Good time yesterday, we had, new friends! Let's hope we can meet up again soon and it will be the start of a beautiful friendship. =D

Now, the less (or more, depends on your perception) rosy side of the blog post. I was mercilessly kept captive in Lord Morpheus Sandman's realm for nearly 10 hours last night where he generously bestowed me with yet another installment of nightmarred and dreamscarred episodes. Great. So this one started abruptly with a scene with me as a third person or voyeur, if you were to use a proper term. In this scene, there was this canine (I am not using the word - "dog", for "dog" conjures up the most heartwarming and friendly images in the human brain) which was largely blood-stained on his white fur. This canine was ripping the fuck out of a person's arm and chest cavity, adding more blood stains onto his already reddened coat of fur. This canine wasn't showing signs of any relent as he mawed at the poor dude's body. Strangely, the dude was as docile as a doormat amidst the attack. Until the poor dude was ripped to the level of the bone, did the canine started to show less enthusiasm. Just like how a typical Singaporean would behave, I was feeling very "kay-po" and I followed the canine after it left the poor dude alone. Number 1 Mind-fuckage: The canine transformed into a very pale looking boy that was hardly 10 years old, he was scantly dressed but he was, like his previous incarnation as a canine, blood-stained. This thing already made me go like "Du Reischt So Gut!" in the dream. So I followed the boy, and he led me into a dark alley. Number 2 Mind-fuckage: The boy jumped into a cavity in the one of the walls and then subsequently the wall closes up and the wall was made complete again. What the fuck?! The boy fused together as one with the wall?! Fuck yes, he did.

This whole thing could be used to write a damn novel or a screenplay for a movie. Damn. I love my dreams.

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And get off my porch while you're at it

About 18 months ago I got knitting again, which you might remember from the time I posted the angora baby booties that are as precious as baby birds and cute enough to eat. (Desmama's words, not mine. I never compliment myself.)

I revisited the knitting for several reasons:

1. I decided that it might be nice to see what my fingers looked like with fingernails attached to them.

2. Pictures of knitted baby clothing and accessories are the devil and will suck you in and take away your power to resist and you will just have to make them whether or not you even know any babies.

3. There were still people out there who did not mistake me for a crotchety old woman. Had to remedy that.

So here are the things I've done in the last little bit. I shall show them to you now so that you may admire with me. It's what I do to everyone who enters my home, so why should you be let off the hook just because you are out of my physical clutches?



These are the socks I knitted for my brother as a Christmas present. And one of these days I will put them in the mail. I hope this glimpse helps you hang in there, brother!



These fingerless gloves were actually Spitfire's birthday present last year, but I just barely got around to taking their picture. This year she asked for a ski cap to wear under her helmet while snowboarding. I imagine I will get that to her sometime in July or so. You know, when it will do the most good.


Made this little bunny hat for GH's baby niece--it was a late Christmas present. And since GH's baby niece is almost as cute as my own, I need to include her picture too, wearing the still-too-big hat.


Yeah, she's a cutie, non? That's one of the weapons GH used to bring me around--showing off his niece and nephew so that I would fully comprehend his worth as a potential breeding partner.

Also made one for Cicada's baby Gulliver. Cicada's obstetrician terrified me after measuring Gulliver's still-in-utero head and pronouncing it to be roughly the size of Cinderella's pumpkin-turned-coach. So I decided to be on the safe side.


He should fit into it when he's about 4 years old. Also, isn't Cicada pretty? Why yes, yes she is.

Soon to be featured: Savvy's legwarmers.

Soon to be knitted: Spitfire's boring black ski cap (she won't let me use colors) and a beyond-beautiful (but still manly) wrap cardigan for Jenny's baby boy.

And best of all, my fingernails look great.

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Sunday highlight (like, very high) and lowlight

On Sunday it was our stake conference, which is when several adjoining congregations (wards) meet together and listen to talks and counsel meant specifically for our area or "stake." It was a very good meeting, and the night before there was an adult session, also good, with an emphasis on missionary work (like, the kind that we civilians are supposed to be doing) which only made me feel slightly wrenched with guilt as opposed to greatly.

The highlight, aside from the v.g. talks that made me feel re-motivated to make more time for things of the soul, was when an insanely tall gentleman passed in front of us. I elbowed GH and nodded over in the guy's direction so he would notice the way his head was practically hitting the lights. Which was when I heard the man next to me whisper to his wife that the tall guy was retired basketball player Shawn Bradley and that he thinks he's the Elder's Quorum President over in the such-and-such ward. This means that I am somehow a few degrees closer to Bill Murray, I think. Also, according to his Wikipedia page, Shawn Bradley and I were born in the same town. Because we are both awesome, even though I prefer do my awesomeness from a sedentary position a little bit closer to the ground.

The lowlight was when I learned what is apparently an unwritten rule in my new town. As I now know, choir performances = time to start chatting with your neighbor. These ladies behind me (and one of their husbands) whispered and talked during every single musical number and hymn and also during the talk of the one woman who got up to speak. Which, do not even get me STARTED on that because I will whip off my bra right here at my desk and burn it and it will be the tiniest fire you ever saw but it will be a meaningful fire, people. But yeah. My ears for some reason cannot tune out the whispering and I was just dying to turn around, give them the Eyebrow, and say, "Excuse me, since I can't actually pay attention to the speaker, do you mind if I just listen to you instead?" Except GH would have died of embarassment, as he always does when I Remind People about Manners.

I'm putting him on notice, though: Next time, it's on.

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So help me, I had better not die in the next 8 weeks because it's just about to get good

It is official.

Today they are aerating the lawns of the apartment complex. This to me is a happy thing because it means spring is coming. The downside is that I now have to watch my step even more carefully because it will be hard to distinguish between the soil pellets and the dog poop, of which there is a healthy amount in this rather dog-friendly complex of ours. Just so you get where I'm coming from on this, we have St. Bernards living here. You think about that.

And then on the way home from grocery shopping I swear I saw daffodils in someone's yard. I couldn't pull over to inspect because it would have caused a traffic accident, which to me does not seem the best herald of spring.

But then, THEN, as I pulled into my apartment complex I saw this:



And then this:


Kidding you not, this is the Best Moment of the Year for me, which is probably why I can't help myself from getting photographic evidence that OH MY GOSH WE JUST MIGHT MAKE IT.

Spring rules. Am just waiting for someone to toss a baby lamb in my path, which would make my bliss complete.

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Short but definitely sweet

Today saw the public performance of a local gothic/extreme metal band by the name of Meza Virs at a very mainstream mall of Hereen. Thrilled, indubitably, by the fact that my favourite music genre will be publicly showcased, I ensured my attendance was made mandatory.

It was just very heartwarming once again to hear metal music being played with such indigantly loud and pride-laded volume at such a public place. The last time I had this experience was at the Rudra's Esplanade showcase in 2006, which was another very fulfilling performance, needless to say. To see the metal-listeners standing around, their souls proud of their musical inklings despite the glaring fact that the avenues for metal music expression here in Singapore would have severely deprived them of a healthy rate of outlet in this fashion. It's a good sight, just to see them standing around, awaiting the show, albeit knowing it'd probably not last very long. Even though we do not converse alot with each different groups of metal-listeners, we know, deep down inside, there's a connection and once the music is unleashed, the headbanging will be in perfect unison, the passion will be burning with equal intensity, our souls or psyches will be soaring high above and relishing every second of the cacophonies of the thing we all so relentlessly adore that is aptly called "Metal Music".

Just 3 short songs; 15 minutes is enough to leave us entirely satisfied. 15 minutes was definitely enough to convince me with great ease that this was better than almost the whole season of Live 'N' Loaded.

No Live 'N' Loaded luck for local metal acts? No problem. Some things are better left for the enjoyment of certain few who knows how to. =)The calm before the tempest

Cedric, the frontman, has a lean mean coat. Damn.

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The well, she is dry

Nothing to report today, other than that I may have just contracted RSV from a baby in the library. I hope I pull through.

Introduced GH yesterday to the delight that is Cold Comfort Farm. Even though he could only catch about half of the mumbled country English dialog, I think he still got quite a lot out of it. And really, many of life's important lessons can be found in this film, I think.

For example:

The wages of sin is Death.

Highly sexed young men living on farms are always called Seth or Reuben.

Nature's all very well in her place, but she musn't be allowed to make things untidy.

When poetry is combined with ill-groomed hair and eccentric dress, it's generally fatal.

And, most importantly, there'll be no butter in hell.



What important life lessons have you learned from movies?

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I should start a list

Because being childless makes me such a parenting expert, I think a good activity would be to start making a list of all the "When I have kids, I will never . . . " rules. That way I can remember them. And then, when I inevitably break every last one, I can cross them off the list one (or two or three) at a time. You know, things like:

I will never yell at my kids in a store
I will never forget that one of my kids is still sitting in the car
I will never use the TV as a babysitter
I will never let my kid wear his underwear on the outside of his pants to church

Here's one, though, that I hope will actually STAY uncrossed on the list:

I will never bring my toddler, whom the librarians have possibly nicknamed "The Beast," into storytime while she has a sharp, pointy metal object that resembles a mechanical pencil or blackhead remover in her hand. I will then not sit there during storytime and text on my phone while my daughter tries to pull her infant sister's brains out through her nose with said implement. And when another mother notices what is happening and stops my younger child from being mummified, I will not shake my head all, "What can you even do?" and then go back to texting.


But anyway. What are some things on your "When I'm a parent I will never" list? Or, what things have you had to cross off?

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Bring on the disaster! Except, you know, DON'T.

Turns out I am married to a superstitious man. He won't say that's what he is, but it's true. If we're in the car driving to Vegas and I say, "Hey, we're making really good time!" he comes unhinged. "I can't believe you just SAID that! Now you've jinxed it! We're going to GET INTO A WRECK AND DIE!!!!" And he really, truly does believe that there's some power in the Universe that is right there ready to smack down the foolish ones for their hubris. The only real response to this must be said with Eyebrows. And eye rolls. And snorts. And then I tell him he should maybe be more worried about the false gods he's all worshippin' on.

But it's because of him that I can't just type "Bring on the disaster!" I'm becoming all knock-on-woodish--not for myself, because I think it's all a load of hooey, but because I don't want to upset him and make him start molting. So that's where the title comes from. Anyway.

Over the weekend started thinking a bit more about food storage. I'm liking how the Church is moving more toward encouraging people to just start small--buying extra groceries when they go shopping, putting together 72-hour kits, building up to a 3-month supply, buying bullets for the eventual shotgun . . . stuff like that. To me, a 3-month supply of food and essentials seems a lot more do-able than a year.

One cool thing I just found over on Pinching Your Pennies is a Grocery Guide tool where you can plug in your zip code and it will pull up the current list of deals in your local grocery stores--with red stars next to the deals that are especially good. (Because hi, like I even know what would be a good price for potato pearls.) So I pulled up the list for my local Macey's and saw all their case-lot sale items, some with red stars. Then I went there and purchased the ones that were a. actually things we eat, and b. way, way on sale. I saw a lot of other people there loading up like it was Armageddon, which was fun to watch. But if you're doing the "build up gradually" method, this would be a good thing to check every week to see what would make a cheap addition to your stash. And then you wouldn't have to waste time in the store browsing around and trying to compare costs to see what's the best deal.

So here's what we have so far, stashed in various places in our apartment. (Note: we no longer have cases of cans at the foot of the bed, since GH scraped all his leg skin off after colliding with one in the dark. Woops.)

No idea how long this would last us, but:

1 case tomato sauce
1 case black beans
1 case chili
1 case ramen noodles
45 lbs wheat
1 wheat grinder (thanks, Mom and Dad)
10 quarts peaches
10 quarts raspberry jam
2 cans Red Feather canned butter
3 containers of potato pearls
20 lbs sugar
2 gallons water

And then all the normal groceries in the cupboards. I'm thinking we might need more water. They say you should at least have a 3-day supply of water, which for us would be 6 gallons.

I've always sort of considered food storage to be what you live on when the entire infrastructure of the world has broken down and there's no electricity and it's dog-eat-dog and you're living in an apartment with one of the walls blown out. I'm realizing though that for most people it's nothing dramatic like that. But it means you're okay if your water gets turned off, because you have enough to last you until it's on again. Or if money gets tight or, heaven forbid, someone gets laid off, you know you have enough pantry items to feed your family for several months, which is one less thing to worry about. Or if someone you know is going through those situations and needs help, you have the extra resources to help them. It's also just a smart way to buy groceries, really (in bulk, on items you already know you'll use).

And that is my food storage plug for the day. Thank you.

ps. When I snooped around on providentliving.org's family home storage page to get information about what constitutes a 3-month supply, I saw a link entitled "Protecting Your Food Storage." Totally assumed it was going to be about guns. It wasn't, though. It was about protecting it from things like heat, sunlight, and mice. Not as exciting as starving neighbors, but oh well.

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Paradise Regained; and Watchmen

So, my month long of internship is finally over and now I will no longer need to conjure very unsustainable thoughts at work to divert my attention away from the unceasing depressing sight of old fogey patients. And, most of all, at least I can stop obligating people to sign forms for me. Haha.

Anyway! To mark the regain of Paradise, I went to watch Watchmen with fellow card wielders, Leon and Kenneth and his friend with a very interesting name called Stick. Having sailed through the actual graphic novel prior to the movie viewing, I have to say I enjoyed myself more from reading the novel than the film. The characters exhibited themselves more effectively and intensly in the novel than the film, I guess, with such a morose and brooding air around this graphic novel/story, words on a page can convey better than a transient span of seconds or minutes of sequences on the screen. I was just very much blown away by the graphic novel when I finished it, intellectually, emotionally, very rare for me to even blown away slightly in the first place. I don't really care for the slow-motion emphasis of certain scenes or the auto-morphing Rorschach mask or the blue nakedness of Dr. Manhattan.

I mean, the whole thing was so multi-layered and heavy in content and rich in substance. And, yet holds that significant amount of truth about our society.

Much to my dismay, Mr. Egyptian A. Viedt was touted to be the Ubermensch of the whole gang, with his half haphazard manner of functioning. Looks like Nietzsche is once again quite misunderstood, as usual. Haha. Sigh, Nietzsche will have to roll in his grave, again. Nonetheless, I will have to take it that the writer chose to use a symbolism of mass destruction of the city dwellers as the Overcoming of the Last Man, for the era of Zarathrustra to arrive.

Next, Dr. Manhattan, this detached individual is just a tortured soul who seeks the human touch which is once and again denied. He acutely reminds me of the ideal man that Plato expounded, who uses reason as a sole faculty and continually deny himself of any desire or joy, such is a callous scientific outlook. Another tortured soul is, who other than, Rorschach? A staunch moral absolutist whose childhood failed and backfired at him, a classical serial killer case study. Deeply confused person and who, in fact, love to end his own life than to suffer living on Earth. An misanthrope. Both Dr. Manhattan and Rorschach are victims of Frued's Psychoanalysis. Unable to fix their inner conflict, they chose exile and death as their conclusions.

Lastly, the Comedian was just an anarchist and quasi-nihilist, who, in true fact, at least, in my interpretation, unable to face the harsh reality and tries very hard to brush everything off as a joke. A Stoic, I would say, if I am in a nerdy mood, haha.

So much to digest, to analyse. And, I am not even starting on the relatively normal mortals - Night Owl and the Silk Spectres.

I read an article about Watchmen and its relation to Philosophy, it is said Watchmen is fodder for philosophers.

Now, I fully agree.

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And that's why I was late to work this morning

The back blinker went out on GH's car a couple of weeks ago. I will not tell you how long it took us to realize this. This morning GH went to the store on his way home from work, bought a new light, and installed it in the car BY HIMSELF.

I knew he was doing this because I was awakened as he burst through the bedroom door demanding to know where the tools were.

I told him they were in the same place they always are (under the couch). Then I heard yelling because they were apparently pushed so far back under the couch that he did something to his back while reaching for them. I chose to stay in bed for all of this. After he went back outside I got up and got ready.

He returned victorious, having repaired the blinker. In the cold. In the snow. By himself. Like a handy, handy man of handiness. It was pretty hot, I can tell you. I expressed my pride.

GH: "Well, I figured I could take it in and spend 20 bucks to have someone else do it, or I could try to do it myself for 3."

Me: "I have never desired you more."

(ps question: Is anyone else trying out new money-saving techniques in light of our Current Economic Times?)

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Tip for the dear dads out there

When you bring your precocious 11-year old to the library because he needs to read a science-fiction book for school, it's not actually a great idea to just wave him in the direction of the adult science fiction section with a chuckle and a shrug of your head. I know it's great that he's reading at such a high level, but what you may not realize is that some of these books are written for adults because there are adult things in them. Things like swearing, violence, and alien sex. That's kind of why we created the kid and young adult area, which we then populated with science fiction books absent of alien sex. We are thinkers in that way. So when the librarian is trying to steer your child to more age-appropriate-but-still-exciting materials, please just sit back and let her do her thing.

Preshaytcha.

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Catch and Release

Our Relief Society presidency was released on Sunday and a new one was called. For the uninitiated, the Relief Society is the women's organization within the LDS church. Its mission involves bringing women and families to Christ, delivering casseroles during time of crisis, teaching you to pack shotguns in your food storage, and trying to convince you to stop beating yourselves up and comparing yourselves to everyone else around you--just before they start the Good News Minute where you get to listen to everyone brag about their marriage and procreation accomplishments, or those of their children. But anyway. A president is called every few years, and on Sunday we got a new one.

Without knowing it, during one of the classes I was actually sitting next to the woman who was soon to be announced as the new Relief Society president. And not only did she tell me that my blue scarf looked wonderful on me and that blue was really my color, but she was also wearing black fishnets with her shoes. So yeah, will be fully supporting and sustaining.

Then during sacrament meeting there was much talking by the departing and the incoming presidency about the blessings of serving in the Relief Society. Or, as it is known in parts of Utah and perhaps elsewhere, the "Releesociety."

I commented on the pronunciation, because I am a jerk like that, and GH told me that he grew up (in L****) thinking the name of the organization was, in fact, the "Release Society." It wasn't until high school that he saw the name in writing and realize what it actually was. He wanted to know how this came about.

Me: "It's linguistic laziness. After the long "e" the mouth is primed to make the "s" and so the labiodental fricative that is "f," which would require a completely different mouth movement, just gets skipped over. It's what happens when you try to talk too fast."

GH: "Huh. I thought it would have been cool if you were the Rescue Aid Society. Then you could all stand and sing like mice."

Clearly he has never been around for "As Sisters in Zion."

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. . . Except this time I'd make-over my SOUL

I never considered myself to be someone who gets bogged down in the comparisons trap. I don't usually compare myself with my friends, or with women I meet at work, or church, or wherever. But recently I noticed that I was doing something different--I was comparing myself to other bloggers.

Part of the problem with blogging (as AmyJane relayed to me after reading an article on the subject) is that we get regular, sometimes voyeuristic, looks into people's lives and start feeling that we perhaps know them quite well. Whereas in real life we tend to gravitate towards people who are similar to us in attitudes, interests, religion, politics, income, whatever, many of the people we "meet" through blogging would not necessarily be in our peer group if we knew each other in real life. We would not actually be friends in real life. And it can be easy to forget that what we're learning about these people comes from a very edited perspective. If we did know them in real life or were friends with them, our view would be much more balanced. We would know the good and the bad, and that would help prevent the "Oh, if only I were more like so-and-so" syndrome.

For example, there is one blogger that I have read for a couple of years. Her blog is lovely and is full of details about her interests and hobbies and plans, but at times I actually find myself getting irritated with her for having such a glamorous, money-filled, and seemingly charmed life. "Don't you ever even stop to think about how different YOUR life is from mine before you go rubbing your vacations and your clothes and your projects and your schmancy eat-out dinners in my face???"

And the answer to that is, of course, "No." No, she doesn't think about my life. She's not my friend. She doesn't know me. She has absolutely no responsibility to be sensitive to me or to anyone else who chooses to read what she writes. Also? I don't really know her, either. I only know what she is choosing to put out there. I have no idea what her real, actual life is like. Her blog is what it is, and the problem is with me.

So does anyone else out there know what I'm talking about? Have you experienced this? Or are there other traps you find yourselves falling into as you basically follow the lives of strangers? (Note: if your traps involves illegal stalking, or, say, kidnapping of pets, then you really may want to look into that with a professional.) But for the rest of us, what do you do to stay balanced and to keep from becoming involved in such a way that you are actually affected negatively by what you read?

What I've decided to do for now is to undertake a bit of house-cleaning in Google Reader, which I think is going to be quite therapeutic. Here are the kinds of things I'm culling:

Most importantly, the blogs that give me a complex. There is nothing wrong with these blogs or their writers, but if I can't read them without getting jealous, or irritated, or generally mental, then clearly they are not good for me.

Design blogs. I have friends who are amazingly talented in the design arena. Take Alma Loveland, for example. When she reads design blogs, she logs pictures and ideas away into a folder and then later might create something wonderful based on that initial idea. I will likely never, ever, ever do this. It is not my gift. So when I follow the design blogs I just feel poor and talentless and like my apartment is a crappy sinkhole of mediocrity and always will be. And what's the fun in that? Am, however, keeping Design Mom because not only does she have great giveaways but every now and then she'll do something like redecorate her porch and it will make my heart melt in my chest, but in the good way. Also Petit Elephant because I know and love the ladies who write it.

Most of the librarian blogs. I had a good reason for subscribing to these last year--I was running a small, rural library and I needed information. I also just needed to feel like I was a part of (or at least aware of what was going on in) the larger library community. It has been months since I've read any of these, and I just feel guilty when I see the list of posts waiting to be read. But the fact is that I'm not reading them, mostly because my professional circumstances and responsibilities have changed and I don't need them in the same way I used to. Which leads us to . . .

Blogs I no longer need. I think timing is a funny thing. Something that was good and useful at one time doesn't necessarily stay good and useful. When I was newly engaged I subscribed to a bunch of wedding blogs to get ideas. Once I had my plans worked out, I un-subscribed because seeing all these other, newer ideas just cluttered my mind. It was better to just get what I needed and then move on. Interests change, circumstances change, needs change. And that's okay.

Blogs that I feel guilty about not actually reading anymore. Seriously, if I'm not reading them, then clearly I don't care. I can always go find them again and resubscribe if the urge or the need strikes.

Blogs I only added because it's what other cool people are reading. Don't get me wrong, I've found some real treasures this way. But in other cases I have to just admit that they're just not my thing (like so many of the design/style blogs).

Blogs that, while really cool, produce way way too much content for me to get through every day. I am looking directly at you with narrowed eyes, Lifehacker.

Blogs that just make me want to shop. I think that's all that needs to be said there.


I will be keeping these, though:

Blogs written by my friends. Unless any of my friends start giving me a complex. Then they're out. This hasn't happened yet, but you never know.

Blogs with amazing food in them. Because I can't go without my food porn. No, I can't.

Blogs that make me want to simplify my life rather than clutter it.

Blogs that teach me things I am currently interested in learning.

Blogs that make me laugh.

Blogs that inspire me.

So. I'm interested to hear how all of you make sense of this in your own reading, and how you decide what makes something RSS-worthy. Let's have it!

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